


Tom?

by GimmeDatElephant



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff, Gay Male Character, Half-Veela male character, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, M/M, Original Character Death(s), Riddle at Hogwarts Era, Rise of Voldemort, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-17
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-09-25 02:39:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9798953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GimmeDatElephant/pseuds/GimmeDatElephant
Summary: Oliver is a Half-Veela who is best friends with Tom Riddle. Tom tries to make it seem like they're only casual acquaintances, but when Oliver grabs his hand and laces their fingers together, he can't help but smile.More tags will be added.





	1. Backstory

Oliver, half Veela through his mother's side, just turned 11, and is at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry the same year as Tom Marvolo Riddle. He is sorted into Slytherin despite his protests to be put in Hufflepuff (But it's closer to the kitchens! And it's warmer! I'll freeze to death down there!)

They become friends. Tom takes pity on Oliver because Oliver is always shivering, despite wearing several layers of clothing and sitting as close to the fireplace as he can without actually catching on fire. He suggests sleeping together at night and sitting close together on the sofas/chairs to keep Oliver warm.

Eventually they get into the habit of constantly being close over the first year, sleeping together, napping together (Oliver naps while Tom studies), just being around each other.

Then the year ends and everyone must return home for the summer. Oliver doesn't want to, but barely protests. Tom doesn't want to return to the orphanage either, but wisely states that it'll only be for a few weeks, and then they'll be back. Tom also promises that Oliver can still share his bed and seat and whatever else he wants to.

Over the summer, Oliver's single father grabs his sons chin while they're eating dinner one night and turns it so Oliver is looking at him and notices that his son is becoming quite the pretty little thing. He leaves it at that, leaving Oliver wondering what just happened.

September returns, and life is back to normal at Hogwarts.

Oliver found out over the summer of his fourth year why he doesn't have a mother around; his father raped her, she dumped the monster he forced upon her on his doorstep, and left with no regrets. His father told him that soon enough, he'd have to start paying to live there, all this charity work is starting to drain his bank account. When Oliver asks what kind of work at the table, his father grabs his ass, hauls him into his lap and says that they'll just have to "figure something out". Oliver doesn't want to go back for the next summer, but refuses to tell Tom, he's been getting more and more protective and possessive, as of late. Oliver decides to simply ride it out until their Seventh year is over, then he and Tom can run away together, no one will ever see them again. He just has to convince his Tom, who has become almost obsessed with the Dark Arts, that it would be the best for the both of them.

Our story picks up at Hogwarts. Things continue as normal, Oliver and Tom becoming more and more attractive as the years go by, which brings us to their Fifth Year.


	2. Fifth Year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying something different this time. Namely, attempting to add more description and not try to rely so heavily on dialogue.
> 
> I hope it turns out well. Please comment what you enjoyed, if there are any errors that I didn't catch, if something doesn't flow properly, or just to tell me that I did a good job!
> 
> Enjoy ~

Tom and Oliver are laying in Tom's bed, as they had done every year prior. The emerald green curtains are drawn, there's faint noises coming from the large window, barely-there, green tinged moonlight streaming in from under the waters of the Black Lake. Their dorms are quiet, only the faint sounds other boys getting settled in for the night disturbs the silence. Both of them have recently finished bathing and getting their nightclothes on: the full shirt and trousers for Tom, and only trousers for Oliver.

The two of them are settled in bed, Tom on his back, hands tucked under his head, gazing at the dark velvet cover draped over the four posters. The bed shook slightly as Oliver shivered, Tom looked over.

Oliver had been on his stomach, arms tucked under his pillow, thick, soft comforter pulled up, over his shoulders. Oliver scoots himself over, closer to Tom before turning himself and slotting his body beside Tom's perfectly, tucking his head under Tom's chin. Tom laid there, still, and allowed Oliver to fit himself however he pleased. Tonight, it was Oliver curling into his side, casting one leg over one of Tom's and tucking his ankle under Tom's shin, his arm splayed over Tom's chest, fingers gently beating a tempo over Tom's chest, other arm, curled and tucked neatly into Tom's side. Together, they shuffled around a bit, getting more comfortable. Eventually, Oliver slipped his hand under Tom's shirt and rested his hand on Tom's warm, soft belly.

"You do realize," Tom starts quietly. "That you would be so much warmer if you actually put clothes on."

"Oh, hush, Tom. I feel like my shirt is trying to suffocate me at night." Oliver started drawing little inconsistent shapes on Tom's belly.

Tom sighed contentedly, almost happily. He wound one arm under Oliver, his hand coming up, across his shoulder blades, to rest on his shoulder. Feeling how soft Oliver's skin was, he started gently stroking and rubbing his shoulder gently. "What do you do to make your skin so soft?" Tom asked quietly.

"Hmm?" Oliver mumbled, nearly asleep. He peeked his eyes open and looked up at Tom, a question in his gaze.

"I said, what do you do to make your skin so soft?" Tom repeated gently.

"Oh." Oliver yawned. "Bubble bath, there's this combination with the soaps that makes your skin and hair soft. Myrtle told me about it. I think she wants to be friends with me."

"Myrtle?" Tom was confused. There was no one in Slytherin house with that name.

"Ravenclaw girl, our year. I don't think she has many friends, and she's a bit annoying, but I like her. I think I'll give her a few days, see if we're compatible friends." Oliver paused. "What do you think, Tom?"

Tom sighed. "You know I don't like anyone from a different house. You'd be fraternizing with the enemy."

"Oh please, Tom." Oliver patted Tom's belly. "Ravenclaw House is almost exactly like us. Give them enough time, and they can be just as cunning."

"Well, I suppose it could be worse." Tom thought for a moment. "It could be Gryffindor." He smiled.

Oliver scoffed and shuddered hard. "I would never even be seen near them. It kills me to even be seated next them at a quidditch match."

Tom sighed and chuckled quietly. "There there, my dear friend. I won't let any of those lions touch you." He pulled Oliver closer to him, if that was at all possible.

Oliver giggled happily, high and bright and beautiful, slightly pushing away from Tom; there wasn't much space to be pulled into, and he didn't want to squash Tom.

They fell into a silence, Oliver's eyes falling closed after a few minutes. He shifted his head further into Tom's neck and drifted off.

Tom was staring at the velvet drape above his head, smiling slightly when he felt his friend relax against him in sleep. He brought his hand up to Oliver's hair and stroked it lightly, tangled his fingers in and clenched, knotting them together. He adored his friends blond curls, always free and falling in his face at every moment.

He enjoyed making his dear friend laugh and smile, and whenever he was sad, Tom would always try and cheer him up. Sometimes, however, he didn't quite know how to, and just started reading aloud out of a textbook, giving his sarcastic comments when something should be obvious ("Don't stick your fingers into a venomous tentacula's mouth.". "Oh, don't do it. Well, it would appear I've been doing it wrong.")

Eventually, he sighed heavily, allowing himself to relax once he knew, for certain, that all of his dorm mates were asleep. He rested his cheek against soft blond curls and closed his eyes. Then, sleep took him.  
__________

The next morning, Tom woke up alone. He was on his back, one arm on his stomach and the other spread out on the bed. When he felt the space where Oliver had been and found it to still be moderately warm.

It wasn't often Tom woke up late, but when it happened, Oliver was never far behind with an ambush. Of what, well, the ambush depended on the day and his mood.

Tom sat up and stretched, listening to his joints pop and crack ugly. He heard the telltale rustling of students getting dressed, and both groggy and decently awake morning greetings. He didn't hear Oliver, with his happy good morning chirp, however, and wondered for half a second where he might be before he shrugged slightly and pulled the curtains open.

Daylight filtered in, in a hazy green from the window, lighting up the dorm unobtrusively. Tom looked around, noting that all six of his dorm mates were awake, their curtains pulled aside and beds made halfheartedly. Tom stood, walked around to the other side of his bed and drew that set of curtains apart as well, as Oliver had left them closed that morning. He then set about making his bed with military precision, his years at the orphanage instilled this basic habit.

He then went to his trunk that sat at the foot of his shared bed and pulled out a set of clean robes, a perfectly folded tie, and something to wear underneath the robe-something spiffy, maybe; Oliver loved it when Tom was in spiffy clothes-and checked the small chest of drawers beside his bed to locate his Prefect badge. He set his clothes on his bed before returning to his trunk and grabbing his muggle toothbrush and a comb, heading to the washrooms and getting ready. Hair perfectly styled and mouth smelling and tasting of mint, he left the washroom and returned to his bed.

He suited himself rightly; buttoned his shirt to the top, tied his tie easily and perfectly without a mirror, and then buttoned his Slytherin vest and black dress trousers (shirt tails tucked neatly), looped his belt through the appropriate loops, socks and shoes; slipped his wand into his pocket; and picked up his badge, running his thumb over it idly to sweep off any invisible dust that may have accumulated over the night. Usually he ran his thumb over familiar raised letters, but today, something felt slightly off about them. He looked at the shiny silver in his hand, noting that, while it looked exactly the same at first glance, the letters were different. Instead of it saying "Prefect", it now spelled out "Ponce".

Tom shook his head fondly, a small smile slipping over his lips, knowing full well who the culprit is. Vaguely, he considered tapping his wand on it to correct the spelling, but decided against it. He'd just have to take a few points away when he next saw Oliver, and then give them right back for "astounding spell work, nearly perfect, Oliver." He snapped the badge in place, adjusted it slightly so it was level, deemed himself dressed, and left his dorm.

Entering the common room, his eyes started scanning the morning crowd for a mop of blond curls. The common room was nicely lit by the green sunlight coming from the windows. A great shadow passed over one of them; the giant squid was awake and moving about slowly and languidly, probably rising to the surface to sunbathe. Students were gathered here and there, chatting amongst each other in hushed morning tones, passing papers between themselves, scouring through textbooks and writing down a few words. Dozens of quills scratching against parchment filled the air noisily. There was an occasional cry of triumph when someone found the answer to their work in their books, and students from all different groups mingled together to find out what the answer was. Slytherin always tended to help with particularly difficult homework questions, and when the answer was glaringly obvious, only a galleon or so was charged.

Tom let his gaze drift over all of them, eyes searching for only one person. As soon as he located his blond mop, sitting in an emerald clothed, black wood Victorian couch in front of a window facing the abyss of the Black Lake, he walked over calmly, taking in the fact that Oliver was sitting with three of his friends. A female friend was seated next to him on the couch, a male in an arm chair close by, and the last, another female, on the stone floor, legs splayed out in front of her. They were kind enough people, Tom supposed, who seemed to enjoy Oliver's company as much as he enjoyed theirs.

As he approached, one of his friends gasped dramatically and snatched something out of Oliver's hands before pointing behind him. She was a darkly skinned, pure-blooded female with a buxom bosom held in by a blouse a size or two too small and had to he unbuttoned by four buttons to not be overly tight across her chest, shapely hips that held up a skirt too short to be regulation, and a tie that might have hidden something at some point but didn't now, smiled fakely in his direction.

Tom did the same to her.

Oliver looked over his shoulder, hair falling in his eyes in waves. He pushed his hair out of his eyes and beamed so brightly at Tom that he might have been lighting the common room up on his own. He turned to his dark friend and made a gesture to her that Tom couldn't decipher from his distance before returning to normal.

Tom snagged a candlestick from its place on a shelf, removed his wand swiftly and transfigured the candlestick into a silver ribbon. He passed it over once he stood behind Oliver, who took it and tied his hair up messily.

Tom sighed, pulled the ribbon from his friends hair and arranged it to perfection, even going so far as to tie the bow perfectly. Oliver's friends were watching the interaction with mild interest.

"Thank you, Tom!" Oliver said brightly.

"Of course, Oliver. Whatever would you do without me?" Tom joked.

"Personally, I think he'd be better off." Oliver's dark skinned friend commented. Tom, for the life of him, couldn't remember her name-not that he ever bothered to learn it in the first place.

Oliver gasped and gaped at her. "Andrea!" He smacked her thigh, the clap near deafening in the quiet common room. "You behave!"

Andrea (apparently) shrugged in a nonchalant manner.

Another of Oliver's friends, a tall, lanky mudblood boy with mousy brown, straw-like hair, and sickly-pale skin covered in freckles, stood up quickly. "I'll see you later, Oliver, Andrea, Guenevere. I've got some... things, I have to do... In the library."

Tom didn't like this one much; aside from his mudblood status, he was much too meek to ever make something of himself in Slytherin.

"Oh, I'll go with you, Robert. There's a book I'd like to look something up in, I've got a strange suspicion that it'll be there," Guenevere stood from her seat on the floor. She was a pretty, pure-blooded blonde who preferred trousers to skirts, was in the Slug Club with Tom, and was deviously smart; Tom believed she was the embodiment of true Ravenclaw and Slytherin spirit in every aspect-she would definitely go far in life.

Andrea passed her something, but it wasn't Tom's place to ask about it.

"O-okay." Robert said quietly.

"Alright, Robert, Guenevere. I'll see you at breakfast, yeah?" Oliver asked curiously.

"I-I... I don't know." Robert mumbled and hurried off through the entrance.

Guenevere smiled and waved before leaving herself.

Oliver turned to Tom. "Why do you always make my friends run away?"

"It's not my fault Robert's spineless. Blame his jellyfish parents." Tom shrugged.

Oliver smiled in exasperated amusement. He scooted over in his seat a bit to make barely any room for Tom to sit.

Tom remained standing.

Andrea rolled her eyes loudly at the display. "If you two are going to continue this way, I'm leaving before you do something dramatic," she stood and straightened out her skirt and tie.

Tom flicked his wand at her, and her skirt lengthened, her shirt enlarged and buttoned properly, and her tie re-tied itself into a perfect full-Windsor. "Please keep your uniform within regulation, or you'll force me to give you a demerit."

"Why not give me a detention?" Andrea asked, pouting her pretty, full lips at him.

"Because, dear friend of Oliver's, I don't have that kind of power. You see," he leaned toward her, "I'm not a professor. Not yet, at least."

"Oh, Merlin's pants!" Andrea shrieked. "I shudder at the mere thought of you becoming a professor! What will those poor, unfortunate students of tomorrow do!"

"Andrea!" Oliver shouted. He stood quickly, and Tom took notice of the fact that his shirt tails were still poking out of the back of his trousers... And that he forgot his robe. Oliver certainly was useless without him. "Please, be nice to my friends! You have a problem with Tom, and I acknowledge that. Now please acknowledge that I happen to like Tom; he keeps me warm and fixes my hair all nice and pretty-"

"And I fold your ties." Tom interjected softly. He took Oliver's seat on the couch, only knowing that Oliver would curl into him later.

"And he folds my ties!" Oliver finished. "Please, Andrea. Just be nice to him while I'm around, yeah?"

She was quiet for a while before finally nodding. "Yeah. I suppose. I'll see you both at breakfast, yeah?"

Oliver smiled another bright smile. "Yeah, of course! You know how much I love the bacon and jazzberry jam!"

And then Andrea left as well, leaving Tom and Oliver alone. Tom shifted slightly on the sofa, leaning his back against the rest and spreading his leg over the seat padding. "You would have been a great Hufflepuff, Oliver."

Oliver turned back to him, still smiling his famous smile, and sat in Tom's lap awkwardly, grabbed Tom's hand, and laced their fingers together. "I know, thank you. I tried to convince the sorting hat to put me there, but, as you know, he put me here instead."

Tom chuckled. "Probably because you'd put all the rest of the Hufflepuffs to shame."

Oliver giggled, all bubbly and happy and warm.

"So, Tom."

"Yes, Oliver?"

"How was your sleep?" Oliver asked curiously.

"It was average. You didn't wake me all night, nor this morning. Which brings me to my next point."

Oliver smiled too sweetly. "Yes?"

"My prefect badge. It seems to be saying an entirely different word these days. I wonder what could have possibly happened?" Tom watched as Oliver's eyes trailed down to Tom's badge, and continued to watch as Oliver smiled wider. "You wouldn't have any idea what happened, do you, my sweet Oliver?" Tom leaned in close and cupped Oliver's cheek, tilted his head a smidge and smiled deceptively sweet.

"Of course not, Tom." Oliver said quietly, words spoken like honey.

"Alright then." Tom shrugged and fell back in his seat, letting Oliver flounder and flail and nearly fall over.

They spoke and laughed for a bit longer, Tom asked what "jazzberries" are (juniper and raspberry, of course! Tom blanched, "pine and raspberry? No thanks."), before Oliver's stomach rumbled loudly.

"It would seem like you're hungry." Tom commented, gaze on Oliver's stomach.

Oliver covered his belly, embarrassed with the loud noise. "Yeah, I guess. Time for bacon and jazzberry jam," he giggled.

They stood, one after the other. Just as Oliver was starting his voyage to the Great Hall, Tom stopped him.

"What's wrong, Tom?" Oliver asked.

"Your shirt tails are poking out in the back, and you forgot your robe."

"Oh." Oliver paused, then smiled again. "Fix them for me?"

Tom scoffed gently, retrieved his wand, and flicked it at Oliver's shirt, which immediately fixed itself. "There, all fixed. You're welcome."

"I wanted you to fix it by hand." Oliver pouted.

"And touch your butt? Ew, no." Tom smiled.

"It's a nice butt. Any normal person would want to touch it."

"I guess I'm not normal, then." Tom stated proudly.

"Yeah, I guess you're right." Oliver tilted his head slightly, looking thoughtful. "You do, after all, fold your ties. And my ties." Tom laughed sarcastically. "I wouldn't be surprised if you suddenly folded everyone's ties!"

"Oh, ha ha ha. You're so funny, I just can't believe how funny you are. I only aspire to your greatness, my Humor King."

Oliver laughed prettily, kissed Tom's cheek (Tom rolled his eyes dramatically, but didn't wipe it away) and bounced his way to the dorms, coming out with his robes quickly before heading toward the common rooms entrance.

Time for breakfast, then.  
__________

Classes were long, but finally over, that day, Slytherin had been awarded the most points he entire day, 57, and since it was Thursday, that meant that Professor Slughorn was holding his weekly Slug Club meeting.

Oliver never liked it when Tom had a meeting as he wasn't allowed to come, but today he had seemed oddly pleased with it during supper and hastily tried to hide his giddiness.

Tom didn't question it; Oliver, after all, probably had his ambush to set up. That's probably what that paper this morning said, Guenevere probably went to the library to see if it was feasible, and Robert probably had to stock up on snacks for their moment. It all made sense, and the least Tom could do was let Oliver have his moment.

Tom was reading his Defence Against the Dark Arts text book while he ate bangers and mash (all of it on separate plates, nothing touching), and Oliver had come around, plate loaded with a nauseating amount of food piled on top of it with all of his little friends, and called him a nerd fondly.

"Well excuse me for wanting high marks. What kind of professor would I be if I didn't even read up on my subject of teach?"

"A great one." Oliver replied easily. "You'd be learning with us, "Oh, wow, children!"," Oliver made a voice, probably thinking it sounded like Tom. " "Boggarts change their form to individual fears! I've gotta get one of those..."." Oliver giggled.

Tom was unamused. He showed his contempt with a pout. "If you're going to be like that, I'll just have to go to the Slug Club meeting early." Tom closed his book and feigned putting it away, allowing time for Oliver to stop him.

And, predictably, Oliver did. "Wait, no!"

"What are we supposed to be doing for the Slug Club, Tom?" Guenevere asked gently, putting a sufficient stop to a possible disagreement.

"I have no idea. Probably helping Professor Slughorn make next weeks lesson plan."

"Oh, or helping him plan a dance!" Guenevere sighed. "Wouldn't that be lovely?" She gazed at Tom, blinking her blue eyes at him unflatteringly.

Tom suddenly had the sneaking suspicion that Guenevere liked him. Tom studied her for a bit before deciding. "No, I don't think so." He picked his fork back up and continued eating whatever was on his multitude of plates.

"What, you don't want to take Gorgeous Gwen to a dance?" Andrea asked haughtily.

Tom inhaled as if he were going to be launching into a lecture. "No. Personally, I'd rather be alone before taking Guenevere anywhere. It's not that I don't like her, she seems kind enough, but she's just not..." Tom paused. "Someone, I could see myself with."

Guenevere looked confused, as of she weren't used to rejection. And she probably wasn't. 

"Tom just wears sensible shoes, that's all Gwen." Robert comforted.

"No, I don't think that's it either, Oliver's friend." Tom tested. "I just don't see myself with anyone."

"Not even me?" Oliver asked, unshed tears in his ocean blue eyes, bottom lip trembling with probable feigned sadness.

"Yes, even you Oliver." Tom rested his hand on top of Oliver's thigh. "It's not you, my dear. It's me. You deserve so much better than I, and I just couldn't keep you all to myself. How selfish would it be, to deny the world of your beauty?"

"Maybe I want to be locked in your dungeon. Maybe I want to be collared and chained to your bed, with barely enough length to get to the bathroom." Oliver sighed dreamily.

"I can't help you there." Tom shrugged.

"I say this because I love you," Andrea began, leaning over the table to grasp one of Oliver's hands. "You might need treatment, Oliver. Get your head looked at, if you think you want that."

Tom checked his pocket watch. "Well, Guenevere. I believe it's almost time to go." Tom packed his book away in his bag and stood. "If you'll excuse me." And then he left.

Guenevere ate a few more unattractively large bites before also standing. "And now you must excuse me. I love you, my dear Oliver. Andrea, we'll be seeing each other tonight. Robert, eat more. You're getting too thin. And don't any of you even think about trying what's on that paper without me!" And she also left.

Oliver, Andrea, and Robert all huddled closer.

"After Slug Club, we're trying it. In my dorm--be sure to tell Guenevere, Andrea--while Tom is doing his prefect duties. We were given a lot of work tonight, so my dorm mates should be in the common room or the library in study groups, we should have the room empty tonight."

"I'm so excited," Robert gushed. "We've been at this for so long, studying everything we can to get this perfect, and I can't believe we're actually there!"

"What do you all think is going to happen?" Andrea asked. "Immortal life, like I've been hoping? Or something stupid, like permanently changing your hair colour to blue?"

"Probably something stupid," Oliver laughed. "I just can't wait!"


	3. Valentine's Day

"So, Oliver." Tom asked, one rather warm, sunshiny day.

It was a Hogsmeade weekend, and Oliver had received several Valentine's gift and cards and chocolate that was probably laced with love potions. Tom had also received several of the same things, but not nearly as much as Oliver had. They were outside, under the trees near the Black Lake, Oliver lounging on the grass, munching on a bar of chocolate, while Tom was sitting up, book in hand, no confections-- besides Oliver's -- near him.

"Yes, Tom?" Oliver replied, taking another bite of his confection. Tom had strongly advised against eating anything he had gotten from someone else that day, but Oliver liked to "live on the edge" and didn't listen.

"Do you have any plans today?" Tom snapped his book closed and turned his eyes to Oliver's beautifully perfect face.

Oliver offered him a bite, but Tom politely declined. "No, I actually wasn't planning anything today. Why, do you want to do something?" Chocolate smeared across his lips and fingers, and Tom wanted nothing more than to take his handkerchief and wipe it away.

"I was wondering if you'd like to join me on my venture to Hogsmeade. Thought we could grab a pint of butterbeer, snag a few chocolates that I know won't be tainted with a love potion to sate your sweet tooth."

Oliver thought about it, his gold curls hiding his eyes from view. Tom reached over and swept them back, so he could see him friends eyes. "Yeah, I'd love to." And then he smiled. "I could always use more chocolate!"

Tom laughed. "But of course, Oliver. One day, you're going to get a cavity or a stomach ache, and all I'll be doing is telling you, as you throw up and get vomit in your hair, is, "I told you so." Because this is me, telling you not to eat so much sweets... or at least balance it out with some vegetables."

"Mmmm." Oliver made a show of thinking. "No, I don't think so." He took another bite of his chocolate. "Are you sure you don't want a bite? It's not contaminated with anything, I promise."

"It's tainted with your spit." Tom said, matter of factly.

"That hasn't stopped you before!" Oliver smiled and then pouted, trying to get Tom to take a bite.

Tom sighed dramatically and long. "Fine. Hand it over."

Oliver giggled, sat up and held the bar out, expecting Tom to just take a bite. And he did. Tom leaned over a bit, looked Oliver right in the eye, Oliver giggling all the while, hand over his mouth to stifle himself, and took a small bite. Tom wasn't too fond of chocolate, but he was fond of Oliver, and he'd do anything for him.

Tom chewed the chocolate and pulled a face, making Oliver laugh in earnest. Tom pushed Oliver slightly, and Oliver fell back over onto the grass, sunbeams coming through the trees and lighting his face warmly.

Tom couldn't help but keep his smile from showing.

Once Oliver finished his bar and licked and licked his fingers clean obscenely, they stood up and departed to their dorms to get their money, before traveling to Hogsmeade. All the while there, Oliver smiled, laughed, talked, and spun around to look at everything and anything near their path. Tom took it easier, hands in his pockets or at his sides or behind his back, walking calmly and collectedly.

Eventually, Oliver grabbed Tom's hand and laced their fingers together, before pointing at something and asking Tom's opinion on it. Of course, Tom was hardly paying attention, his mind was elsewhere, before making some vague answer that seemed to appease Oliver.

Once they reached the village, Oliver smiled brightly, pushed his hair our of his eyes, and dragged Tom toward the Three Broomsticks for their promised pint of butterbeer.

Oliver enjoyed his pint a bit too much and far too quickly. Tom had finished just over half of his pint while Oliver finished two and was getting up for a third. Tom figured he should stop him after this one, let these three settle and then head of to the local candy shop.

Next thing Tom knew, Oliver came back with three pints in his hands. Tom raised both eyebrows and looked from the warm glasses in his hands to his face.

Oliver was smiling happily when he set the pints on the table, sliding one over to Tom.

"Don't you think three is enough?" Tomb asked skeptically.

"I thought so, yeah, but those nice guys at the bar gave me their rounds! Isn't that exciting!" Oliver laughed.

Tom's eyes widened. "Which two did they give you, exactly?"

Oliver was going to take a sip from one glass, but Tom gently pressed his fingertips to the rim and set it back down on the table. "I don't know, but why does it matter? They seem nice, they kept looking over at us and smiling and waving, and they gave me their drinks. Let's just enjoy!"

Tom nodded before standing, and taking the three full pints back up to the bar, ignoring Oliver's undignified squawk.

"Excuse me, barkeep?" Tom said politely.

A short man in a red vest turned toward Tom. "Yes? Can I help you?" He asked gruffly.

"I would like to return these? You see, my friend came up here," Tom gestured to Oliver, who had stood and was now at Tom's side, "to order his third butterbeer, and these two men gave him their drinks along with the one you gave him. Since I don't trust them, and knowing my very pretty friend here, two of them are spiked with a love potion. Is there any chance we could get new drinks?"

The bar tender looked shocked and outraged. "Which two was it?!" He shouted before grabbing the neck of a random bottle from behind him and smashing it on the counter, giving himself a dangerous weapon. "I'll kill the bastards! No one gets away with that while I'm in charge!"

Tom, unconcerned, turned to Oliver. "Well, darling? Which two was it?"

Oliver's eyes were wide when he looked to Tom. Then he got the hint, glanced around and saw two figures leaving in a hurry. "Well, I don't see them now, but it was probably those two that just left in a hurry."

The barkeep growled viciously. "If them idiots ever step foot in here again, I swear..." he continued mumbling before taking the drinks and vanishing the contents, thoroughly cleaning them with water and some other solution, before filling them again with butterbeer. "I'm so sorry for the trouble, lads." He set another pint on the counter. "This ones on me, alright?"

But before he could fill it, Tom put his hand over the glass. "As thankful as we are, I can guarantee we don't need anymore. Just our original three will be fine."

Once they finished their combined six pints were finished-- Tom had one and a half, and Oliver had four and finished Tom's other half --they left for a candy shop.

The streets were crowded at this hour, and Tom felt the need to keep Oliver close by putting his arm over his shoulders. He didn't act upon it, but Oliver laced their fingers together again, giggling at nothing in particular.

The sweets shop was as packed with sweets as it was packed with students, some couples in love, some single and with their friends. Everywhere Tom looked, he saw children hovering around piles of confections, some bubbling, some smoking.

Oliver took his time picking which sweets he wanted, hands laced together on his chest, bottom lip tucked between his perfect, white teeth, while Tom watched him, saw his eyes linger on this treat and that one before walking away completely.

After an hour with no purchases made, candies and cakes picked up and set back down, Tom eventually asked, "Are you going to buy something? Or can we leave?"

"No, no. I'm buying something." Oliver paused. "Did you want something?"

"I don't like sweets, we've gone over this."

"Right."

"Just buy several galleons worth of chocolate and let's leave. I'm getting bored, and I need some new quills and parchment."

"Yes, we both know you're boring. Let me get my exciting sweets, and then we can get your boring school supplies."

After a few more minutes, Oliver went over to the chocolates and bought dozens of each type, to the cakes and cookies and bought dozens more, and finally bought ten of each variety of lollipop, before opening a chocolate frog and eating it before they even left the shop.

On the way to the quill and parchment shop, Oliver ate several more candies and cakes, dropping the wrappers into a separate bag so as to not litter.

Inside, there weren't many patrons here, everyone else getting their sweets and pints of warm butterbeer further down the lane. Tom bought four more quills and seven more rolls of parchment before deeming himself sufficiently supplied.

"Do you need any supplies before we leave?" Tom turned to Oliver and gently asked his friend. Then he noticed that Oliver's mouth was covered in chocolate.

"No, I'm good. I'll just borrow one of your quills if I need one." Then he popped an acid pop in his mouth.

Tom sighed and pulled his handkerchief out of his pocket, removed Oliver's confection and wiped his mouth, before giving the candy back.

A few students who happened to be in the shop with them giggled and snickered to themselves and their friends before they started whispering amongst themselves. Tom steadfastly ignored them and pulled Oliver out of the shop. It was getting dark, and they should be heading back to the castle now.  
_________

Tom was holding Oliver's hair back from his face as he vomited into the toilet in front of him. The vomit was brown and smelled absolutely vile; sick, sweet, and spoiled chocolate.

"I told you so." Tom said quietly, moving his hand up and down Oliver's back.

"I know you did." Oliver sobbed. He was a wreck; face red and blotchy, tears in his eyes, stray chunks of vomit and spit over his lips. "I'm sorry, Tom. I should have listened to you, and I'm so sorry."

"There's nothing to be sorry about. You'll get through this little episode, we'll get you cleaned up, and then we'll go to bed. How does that sound?"

Oliver threw up again, making horrid noises, and ending in more sobs. Once his retching had subsided, Tom had Oliver stand and brush his teeth to get rid of the taste and smell of his sickness, while Tom flushed the toilet twice; once to get rid of the bulk, and another to finish.

After they were both finished with their tasks, Tom took Oliver to his bed, dressed him, and then himself, before noticing a folded note on his pillow addressed to him.

"Well, what's this?" He picked it up and opened it gently. He didn't recognize the handwriting.

It was a love letter.

"My dearest Tom."

Tom read aloud,

"My love for you burns like a dying Phoenix.  
If you were a Dementor, I'd become a criminal, just to get your kiss.  
Being without you, is like being afflicted with the Cruciatus Curse.  
Your smile is like Expelliarmus; simple, but disarming.  
You can have the portkey to my heart.  
I must have had some Felix Felicis because I think I'm about to get lucky~

Love, forever more,

Your secret admirer"

"As thoughtful as that is, I'm going to have to politely decline." Tom told no one in particular.

"Why?"

Tom looked up at Oliver, only to see a strange mix of sadness and, oddly, devastation in his eyes. "Because, my dear. I'm afraid they would take up too much of my time. It just wouldn't be fair to you, to split myself up like that, now would it?"

And then happiness returned to him. Tom made a mental note to ask about it later; right now, his darling friend needed to sleep.

"Okay. Let's sleep now, Tom. I'm so dreadfully tired!" He yawned theatrically largely.

Tom snickered and pushed his friend onto the bed before getting in next to him.

 


	4. Easter Holiday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was written in like, an hour.... Okay, more like four. Because I got distracted. It's mostly as an afterthought for Easter. Don't know where it's gonna go, but it sure will be a wild ride.

"Tom, I'm bored." Oliver pouted. Today, they were staying on the dorms as Oliver didn't want to get up during the Easter Holiday. He didn't get dressed as well, claiming that that was part of not getting up, so he was still in his pajama pants, no shirt, curls wild. Currently, he'd found a semi-comfortable position on his back, legs bent at the knee, facing upward to the canopy.

Tom, however, had gotten dressed, he'd had prefect duty that morning. He wasn't dressed in his robes, of course, but he still had on his black dress pants, shiny shoes, and white button down, silver and green tie wrapped and tied perfectly at his throat. "Grab your text book and start working on your school work." Tom said plainly, not looking up from his book.

"Ew." Oliver pulled a face. "No, I don't think I will. I want you to entertain me."

That was when Tom looked at him. Oliver was stretched out on the dark green sheets, pale skin like a white beacon in the darkness, toned body on full display. Tom sighed heavily. "What do you expect me to do, then?"

"I don't know." Oliver muttered, fingers coming up to his stomach to fidget idly there. "Take off your clothes, let's see where that gets us."

Tom raised a brow before ducking his head and snickering, unable to hold the stoic rude any longer. "You know exactly where that will get us." Tom may have sounded put-upon, but as he set his book down with one hand, his other reached up and loosened his tie.

Oliver was watching the whole display, and he smiled brightly before rolling himself onto his stomach and coming over to help. Oliver unsteadily sat over Tom's lap and helped Tom unbutton his shirt, while Tom reached out to steady his friend. As each button came undone, Oliver became more and more rushed to finish the job, and Tom had to hold him more securely to keep him from wiggling right out of his current place.

Once all of the buttons were undone, Oliver pushed Tom's shirt to the side, sat more comfortably in Tom's lap, wrapped his cool arms around Tom's middle and breathed a sigh of relief. "This always feels wonderful. Your skin is so warm, and soft, and feels so good against mine."

"I'm glad you think so." Tom said, shifting into a more comfortable position. He reached for his book and continued reading it through while Oliver stroked his skin*.

Eventually, Oliver got restless. Then, he sat up and sighed.

"Something wrong?" Tom asked, saving his place in the book, dropping it onto the bed, and looking at him.

Oliver just sighed again, pouted and crossed his arms over his chest. "You're not doing it right."

Tom rolled his eyes playfully, placing his hands on both sides of Oliver's ribs. "My sincerest apologies." He whispered placatingly. "How can I make it up to you?"

"Kiss me. That should help." Oliver said plainly, wetting his lips for effect.

"Kiss you?" Tom asked, both hands now coming to cup Oliver's jaw. "Now why would I do that?" He started leaning up, slowly, holding Oliver in place.

"Because you know you want to. I know I want to, I have for a while now." Oliver whispered.

"Then we should fix that, shouldn't we?" Tom sat up fully, pressing his lips to Oliver's.

Oliver closed his eyes, he put his hands on Toms hips as they embraced. He could feel his lips move as they pressed against his, with his tongue teasing, pushing his lips forward slightly, plumping them up. He could feel his heart race as Toms hands slid to the back of his neck before he pulled away.

Only then, did he slowly open his eyes, stared onto Toms gaze for a moment before blinking and coming back to reality.

"How was that?" Tom asked quietly.

"Perfect." Oliver replied, equally quietly.  
__________

(I didn't actually write that kiss. My buddy did, and I totally stole it. So thanks buddy, you're the best and I still hate you (insert heart emoji). But I am just now noticing how little the characters in the fanfics I read actually kiss.)  
__________

*Oliver took a deep breath in and opened his eyes. He was laying on Tom, head softly cradled against his chest, one of Tom's hands sunk deeply into Oliver's hair. Oliver had his arms wrapped around Tom snugly, holding onto his naked upper body.

Tom glanced down at him. "Awake already, Oliver?" He asked not unkindly.

"Yeah, I guess. I had an interesting dream." Oliver mumbled, not quite ready to wake. But he sat up anyway, and stretched largely, almost falling over.

Tom reached out a hand and gripped his hip, steadying him. "Oh?" He pulled his eyes away from the book. "What was it about?"

"I can't remember now. Something to do with you, I think." He shrugged,  "You know how it is with dreams." He fell over onto his side inelegantly, and shuffled into a pillow, pulling it to him, eyes still locked onto Tom's perfect features.

"Well then." Tom turned to look at him. "Let's get out of bed and do something. I've been sitting here for most of the day, let's get some sunshine."

"You can do that." Oliver giggled, leaning forward and kissing the tip of Tom's nose, giggling when Tom crinkled his nose. "I'm going to find Gwen, Andrea, and Robert." He got up, still holding the pillow to his chest.

"At least get dressed." Tom muttered, sitting up also and swinging his legs over the edge, leaning his elbows onto his knees.

"No. You can't make me. I'm going to leave here half naked, and there's nothing you can do to stop me."

Tom shrugged, a simple smile gracing his lips. "Then I won't. I however," he stood, collecting his slightly rumpled shirt and discarded tie from the floor, "will be dressing and going to find my friends as well. They should be somewhere close, if not asking Professor Slughorn for potions advise."

"Suck ups, the lot of you." Oliver giggled, hiding his face in the pillow still attached to him.

Shirt over shoulders and tie around neck, Tom pulled Oliver into him. "You have fun today, I'll see you tonight, if not later this afternoon." He pressed a kiss to Oliver's head of curls before pulling away and leaving, doing up his buttons as he went.

"You too, Tom." Oliver sighed to himself. He sat on the bed, and huffed. "Why is this happening to me?" He asked himself, burying his face in his hands. "Tom is my best friend, I shouldn't have any romantic interest in him."

Oliver sighed again, "Oh, but he's so perfect."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (In case none of you quite understood my point, the kiss was a dream. Hence the little stars.)


	5. Slug Club

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AND FINALLY I GET THIS REGULARLY SCHEDULED CHAPTER OUT. AFTER HOW LONG?

Tom was two corridors down from the Great Hall. It was quiet at this hour, every student in the Great Hall, and it gave Tom time to think about things. Things like his Knights of Walpurgis, what their next plan was, how to break it to Oliver of his eventual plans to run for Minister of Magic and eradicate all mudbloods, muggles, and half-bloods-very few exceptions will be allowed in that department, what with Oliver being half attractive monster and everything, Tom figured he'd have to be delicate about the situation.

Although, now that Tom thought about it, if Oliver asked nicely, Tom would probably spare all monster half-bloods, if only to keep him happy and smiling brightly.

He had been going through several different scenarios about how Oliver would take the news, not looking where he was going, but instinctively knowing how to get to his destination instead, when he heard someone calling for him from behind. It was a female voice, so he knew who it would be right from the get-go.

"Tom Riddle, would you please wait for me, my dove?" Guenevere called him by his given pet name.

Tom sighed heavily and stopped. Guenevere and Andrea would be spared. So would Robert, if it would appease Oliver.

While he waited, he took in the usual sights of the dungeons: cold, damp stone walls that smelled slightly of mildew; a few portraits of old witches with tall, wide brimmed, pointed hats and wizards with gaudy robes, and massive jewels on each finger; and candles handing from the walls that barely lit anything on their own, let alone an entire hallway. Magic was used to light the rest of the way, Oliver had decided in their third year and told Tom about his theory. Tom, of course, believed him.

Guenevere eventually caught up and beamed brightly, her nose wrinkling slightly from the force of her smile. "Thank you for waiting."

"Of course. If I didn't wait for you, you'd tell Oliver again." Tom shrugged.

"And I don't see the problem with that. All he does is talk with you about ignoring pretty girls." Guenevere motioned for them to continue their trek.

Tom took the lead, and Guenevere fell into step with him. "And you wouldn't. You don't sleep with him at night, oh no. You've got your very own dorm, far away from Oliver while he talks, endlessly, at night."

"How does he sleep." Guenevere giggled.

"Him? What about me?" Guenevere giggled again. "You see, sometimes he doesn't sleep. And I must suffer. Suffer the endless questions like, our dorm mates name is James. So Oliver asks "why is James spelled with an S? Why is it plural? More than one Jame. How many James?"."

Guenevere laughed again, bringing her hand up to her mouth to stifle the loudness. "And what did you say?"

"I told him to sleep. But he couldn't. So I had to play with him."

Guenevere laughed harder. "Play with him?" Her eyebrows shot up, unbelieving.

"Yes. I had to get out of bed, go to his trunk and pull out his chess board. We had a tiring game of chess that lasted two hours."

"Oh, chess! I thought you meant something else!" She giggled again, eyes shining with mirth.

"What else would I mean?" Tom was confused. How else does one go about playing with their friend?

"Nothing, nothing." She waved his question off.

Dropping the topic, they continued chatting until they reached Professor Slughorn's office; their usual meeting place for the Slug Club. Many other students had already arrived by the time they got there, which didn't bother Guenevere too much. Tom, however, was punctual and despised being late to anything.

Professor Slughorn joined them all shortly, wearing his standard choice of a pale, shimmering silver robe. "Students, please!" He called jovially. "Gather round here, and we'll discuss our next meeting."

"Professor?" Tom inquired. "Why are we discussing our next meeting? Don't you usually have everything planned out beforehand?"

Professor Slughorn laughed boisterously, patting his stomach. "Yes, my dear boy, Mr. Riddle. I do, in fact, usually have the meeting planned. This time, however," he wagged his finger at Tom, "I decided to give you all a choice in the matter. It seems as though my usual soiree is starting to bore."

The students nodded, some making small murmers of agreement, and took a seat at the round, dessert laden table. Guenevere helped herself to more dessert, somehow always having room for more, while most other students only took small things to nibble on here and there during the meeting, or to have something to stick in their mouth when they might say something unsavory. Since Tom didn't like sweets, he didn't take any (though he might have swiped a couple of cookies to give Oliver later).

The meeting was further discussed, laughter and jokes shared amongst the dinner guests, stories of home being shared, small debates forming and disbanding after a short while. The majority of the students chose to have a party and a dance instead of another similar dinner meeting to discuss classes and classwork in further detail, much to Tom's adamant dismay.

Guenevere left with Tom, smiling brightly and talking a mile a minute about how much fun this was going to be, what dress she was going to wear, who was going to be her "plus one" and then jabbering away about makeup and hair choices that went with each of her dresses.

"Oh, but maybe I should buy a new dress for the occasion, I've already worn every dress I own to the formal dinner meetings, and I need to stand out somehow and be the belle of the ball." Guenevere giggled behind her hand.

Tom very nearly rolled his eyes, not caring in the least about dresses, or fashionable new hair styles, or bizarre makeup choices. Instead, he eyed Guenevere from top to bottom and acted as if he we're choosing an outfit style for her. Before he could say anything, however, Guenevere had already changed the subject.

"Did you give it much thought as to who your date would be?" Guenevere asked as she settled down. "Because I know who I'll take if my first choice turns me down. And I'm sure they will, hardly anyone ever wants to go to a dance with me." She sighed forcefully, shoulders sagging forward in feigned defeat, making the obvious attempt at attention grabbing.

Tom, however, wasn't fazed. Oliver pulled the same things on him all of the time. "Actually, I wasn't planning on going." Ignoring Guenevere's shocked gasp, Tom continued. "Do you think professor Slughorn would be disappointed if his most favorite student didn't go?"

"Why aren't you going?" Guenevere asked, ignoring her surroundings entirely to look at Tom in utter shock.

Tom reached over and took her by the arm to pull her away from a small Gryffindor with their head buried in a book before they collided. "Head off to your commom room, Gryffindor. You wouldn't want to be caught after curfew." He called back to the other student before turning back to Guenevere. "Well you see, Guenevere, I don't like dances, I've never liked dances, and I don't intend to go to any while I'm here." Tom shrugged.

"But Oliver likes dances." Guenevere tried desperately.

"You act as if I don't know this; Oliver loves dancing and tries to rope me into it every chance he gets. And how are Oliver's interests supposed to sway me?"

"Well," she blushed, "I figured you'd want to take him as your plus one. And if Oliver somehow couldn't make it, I'd be happy to join you?"

"No, thank you. I have no intention of going. If you wish, take Oliver with you. I can guarantee you'll have a wonderful night with him."

They chatted a bit more, Guenevere more and more quiet as she mulled over the new information until they finally arrived at a familiar passageway. Upon entering the common room, they found it to be filled with students of all years, leaning over books and parchment, quills scratching heavily.

He crossed the common room and headed for his dorm, splitting from Guenevere at the staircases. As he entered his dorm, he found Oliver and friends sitting on Tom and Oliver's joint bed, books spread out around them, open bottles of ink sitting precariously on the folds of the bedspread, quills and parchment at the ready for note taking.

Oliver looked up when he heard the door open and beamed brightly, as always, when he spotted Tom. "Tom!" He leaped off the bed excitedly, papers, quills, and books being knocked off the bed and tumbling to the floor in his haste. His friends groaned and moaned and complained that their books lost their places, their ink spilled, and their quills fell on the floor.

"Hello, Oliver." Tom held his arms open to take his friend in them before being tackled. It was inevitable at this point, so Tom just went with it.

Oliver embraced him tightly around his middle, while Tom enclosed Oliver however way he could, and rested his cheek against the top of Oliver's head. "Oliver, I'm only here to drop off my books; I have prefects duty right now."

"Just a little bit longer." Oliver whimpered.

Tom wishes he could say that this was abnormal behaviour, but Oliver does this every Thursday... or whenever they were separated for a longer period of time. He smiled gently and sighed heavily, as if he weren't enjoying the contact. "I hope you clean up the mess you made on our bed." He said quietly.

Oliver hummed. "You know I don't know any cleaning spells." He whispered.

"What a fine husband you'll make."

Oliver giggled at that. "Why should I know how to clean when I have you? Any mess I make, you'll clean it up for me. That's how it always has been, and that's how it'll always be."

"Ah yes. I've forgotten; we'll be together forever."

Oliver outright laughed at that, snuffling further into Tom's chest. Oliver ended up holding on for longer than "just a bit", and when he pulled away, he smiled up at Tom, blue eyes shining brightly in the dim lighting of the dungeon. Oliver slipped his arms around Tom's neck, his smile dimming slightly. Tom continued to hold him close, aware of the eyes on the pair of them.

Oliver leaned slightly up, eyes closing very slightly--Someone coughed loudly behind them.

Startled, Oliver kissed his cheek and pulled away quickly, looking flustered. Tom briefly wondered what brought it on, but dismissed it once Oliver's body pulled away entirely from Tom's to rejoin his group of friends. 

"I've had my hug, go be with your perfect prefects and your bookworms, you nerd." Oliver turned slightly and waved, smiling brightly the whole time.

Tom shook his head slightly, small smile gracing his lips, and waved as well before striding toward the door. "If that mess isn't cleaned up by the time I get back, you're going to get a serious scolding." Tom called back to him.

Andrea, who was sitting on the bed, shouted back, "Make that a spanking, too! Oliver will just drift off into fantasy land if you scold him!"

Oliver gasped sharply, hand pressed to his chest, before smacking her on the thigh. Andrea burst into cackles next to him before bullying Robert into joining her.

Tom chuckled quietly at their play and pulled the door open just as Guenevere was about to push it open. Tom stood slightly to the side to allow her entry before leaving to his "prefect" meeting.  
__________

Lord Voldemort entered the room with purpose, strutting smoothly to the desk at the front of the room. Each of his Death Eaters watched him, bowing their head minutely, and taking their place around him.

"Good evening, my friends. I believe I've found something of importance in the girl's lavatory on the first floor." Tom started the night off.

"What were you doing there, my lord?" Avery, Lord Voldemort's closest ally asked softly, respectfully.

"You see, Avery, my companion, Oliver, wishes to make friends with the girl most often seen there. I wished to make sure she was an appropriate choice for him, and I'm convinced all she'll do is pull him down. Oliver deserves the best in life, and when I rule over the Ministry of Magic, I'll be sure that's what he gets. Myrtle Warren," Lord Voldemort spat, "must be taken care of. Which brings me to my reason for summoning you; I've heard rumour Slytherin's beast lurks in a place called the "Chamber of Secrets"." Tom smiled coldly. "And I believe I've found it. I just need to find out how to gain access."

"What makes this one place seem like it holds the Chamber?" Lestrange asked.

"I'm glad you asked. The faucets in this particular facility are oddly arranged. Instead of being on the wall, like the others, they're in the middle, attached to a small pillar. I'm going to need all of you, myself included, to take a closer look at them. It shouldn't be too hard, we'll just have to go in before Warren enters or after she leaves. Mulciber," he turned to him, "I'd like you to scout the lavatories out, see when Warren arrives and when she leaves. Write it down if you have to. Any information you can gather from there will be most helpful."

Mulciber nodded. Of course he did, he was always vying for Voldemort's attention. "Of course, My Lord. Whatever you ask of me."

Soon enough, the meeting was adjourned, roles had been assigned, patience had worn thin several times over, and a few snide remarks made toward Oliver and quickly dealt with.

As the group left, two of the Knights of Walpurgis, Rosier and Nott, started loudly discussing their sexual life with their girlfriends.

Stunned by such vulgar language, Voldemort turned to his group of associates, attention mainly on the two who brought the subject up, and said, "What exactly are you both speaking of? That kind of vulgarity could get you a detention and cost Slytherin points."

"Oh, come on, Tom!" Nott said heartily, slinging one arm over Tom's shoulder as they exited the classroom. "Don't tell me you haven't heard the stories everyone else talks about?"

"I have, yes. But never with such foul language." Tom rolled his shoulders, disloging Nott's arm. He swept invisible dust from his robes before continuing, "If you wish to speak that way, make sure you're not out in the open."

Another arm was thrown over his shoulders. "Oh, come on now, Tom." Antonin Dolohov laughed. "You can't possibly be that much of a prude."

Another joined in, "Yeah, Tom! I'm sure you've had plenty of ladies throw themselves at your bed!"

Voldemort could feel his face burn hot with slight embarrassment . "In fact, I have not. Unlike you all, I spend my time wisely and study." He nudged the arm stretched across his shoulders off once again before pressing forward, ahead of his group, to begin his prefect duties.

He was pulled back by the group and given a very vivid explanation about how to properly seduce a lady into his bed and how to go about.... Other things, while in the bed. Spells Tom didn't even know existed were written down on a square of parchment and passed to him, the wand movements explained slowly and carefully and also written down on the parchment next to the correct spell.

Tom, absolutely mortified, was forcefully pulled and pushed through the movements, before his companions made him do it on his own. If his movements weren't up to their standards, he was shown again, and made to repeat.

Once he was up to par, his companions left him with a wave, some mild laughter, and a shout of "Good luck!" thrown behind them.

Tom didn't know what the luck was for as he had no plans for using any of this new information in the near future, but figured it would be a good joke for him and Oliver to share, nonetheless.  
__________

Wandering the halls for any student out of bed after cerfew, Tom started to think about how much he didn't want to return to the orphanage that summer. It was dreary and depressing, but maybe he could ask Headmaster Dippet if he could stay at Hogwarts this summer. The Headmaster enjoyed Tom's company, so Tom figured he wouldn't have any issue in getting what he wanted.

He just had to write the older headmaster a letter and hope he didn't ask that old codger Dumbledore for advise on the matter.

Maybe he could also ask if Oliver could stay with him, knowing that things were getting bad for him back home. Of course, then Oliver would have to write to the Headmaster himself.

Tom nodded to hinself, his plan set; that night in their bed, they would discuss their summer plans, Tom would casually mention wanting to stay at Hogwarts this summer and convince Oliver to do the same.

 


End file.
